Career Move
by Scaleface
Summary: The President's PR man Jerry Ross receives a phone call during the invasion of Earth. Regret and loss are the themes of today's one-shot.


Jerry Ross looked at the phone on his desk, it was ringing. To anyone else it would not seem unusual, phones had been ringing all day, they'd been ringing round the clock since this thing started. No, it wasn't the phone ringing that was unusual, while noise filled the room a tiny light flashed and it was not a light that usually glowed.

"Listen, babe, I'll have to call you back," Jerry's voice was calm as it trailed off and he pressed the button on his cell phone cutting off the outrageous cries of disbelief from the person he had been talking to, the call had been important. Jerry swallowed and flexed his fingers nervously before he reached for the phone on his desk with both hands, picked up the receiver and pressed the button next to the small blue LED.

"Hello?" he asked unsurely.

"Jerry?"

He breathed in and sighed almost painfully at hearing her voice, he had not thought it would be her, over the last two years the only phone calls he had had through that line were from his mother and before that, before he had made his mistake, they had been from his son.

"Becka," he said her name, he breathed again and his ex-wife started to cry. "No, sweetie, please don't," he tried quietly, he suddenly wished he was in a small quiet room- the office was large. All the rooms in his apartment were large… He didn't know any small rooms anymore.

"Jerry, I," her voice shook and she seemed to stop crying, he listened, helpless, not knowing what to say or do, or even feel. "I just wanted to- to make sure you're safe."

He felt a terrific pain in his chest and instead of voicing the emotions that rushed into his throat he laughed. The voice at the other end of the line seemed to shudder at hearing it.

"Becka, I'm fine."

"Jerry," she stressed, her voice straining, "don't be a fucking hero," she hissed, "Washington is not the place to be right now, you should- you should- come home!" she finished.

He paused in shock before trying to form an answer, "Becka, I-"

"Come home, Jerry," she said again, "please, I- I'm so frightened."

He paused and a million thoughts rushed through his head, he had not seen her, had not spoken to her since the funeral of their child, he had not spoken to her much then, she hadn't wanted him to. Why did his body want to throw everything down and run to her? He deserved this success didn't he? Hadn't he worked so hard for it? Running now would be the end of it, they were in the middle of a global fucking crisis! The biggest global fucking crisis of all time! And he was the President's right hand man, he couldn't run away, the repercussions didn't bear thinking about.

"Please, Jerry," she said again, quietly, so quietly, like she was so far away.

"I- I can't," he said and the tone of his voice was surprise more than anything, as though his body, and his heart were trying to explain that his ridiculous persona wanted to say 'Are you out of your mind? Can't you see what me being here means for my career, for the amount of money I'll earn, for the position I'll have when this is over!'

"It'll be ok," he said quietly, "it- we've got it under control," his voice started to change, he had switched back to his work-voice, "Just stay inside."

She was crying, he could hear her trying to control her breathing.

"I'll come home afterwards, ok?" he said quietly and he felt sick and shaky, his eyes stung, he couldn't possibly start to cry, that would be a terrible career move.

"Jerry, I," she sobbed, "I want to- I still love you," she said painfully.

"I-" his voice cracked and he coughed and swung his chair towards the window and looked up at the sky and then down at the shadows on the lawn, "I'm so sorry, Becka," he said and his throat burned as his eyes filled up.

"Mr Ross." Jerry whipped round angrily and held the phone in his lap as he looked up at the boy in front of him, his secretary, "They need you," he told him, "there's another transmission coming through."

Jerry stood up but looked at the phone in his hands, "I'll be there in a second," he assured the boy and he raised the phone back up to his ear.

"I've got to go," he told her, it was his work-voice, "Honey, I'll call you back ok? Don't go outside."

* * *

><p>He hung up.<p>

Rebecca listened to the dial tone and she fell to pieces.

"I forgive you, Jerry," she had listened to him swallow, listened to the painful noises he had made on the end of the line. Two years ago, when Alex had been ill and before that even, so rarely had she been able to speak to the man she had fallen in love with, she was so overcome with joy and grief and pain and longing to hear him still there, "please come home, Jerry, I forgive you. I love you," she had whispered. He had hung up.

* * *

><p>After he lost his son Jerry had dedicated all of his spare time to trying not to think about what happens when you die. He got drunk and he cried and he cried and he cried, he felt horrendous guilt and such sadness like nothing he had ever felt before. He missed his ex-wife and he wished he could explain himself to her and beg her to forgive him. He filled his days with work and his nights with work, when the drinking got too much for him he turned to women. Different women every night, women he didn't have to talk to or connect with, women he paid for.<p>

It had become the norm for him.

The women he slept with were not the sorts of women a man like him should have been with. He had always been confident and good at his job, he was good with people and he was good with women. Before he had married he had had casual girlfriends, women who worked like him, for the party, in politics, or in journalism, they were career women, there was no time to be too serious about the relationship because they were too busy being serious about work, it had suited him, it had suited them.

Then there was her.

There was Rebecca.

He hadn't even seen her do it. She'd been working for the New York Times, at the party conference, sitting quietly in the front row and sketching them all, not for a caricature, not for some horrible grotesque send-up, she had been sketching them for posterity.

She had drawn him.

He'd been caricatured before and it had never been pretty, he did his job well, sometimes too well, he had never really liked being called 'the Sultan of Spin'. It was George, the editor, who'd introduced them, after the councilor's speech Jerry had met with the papers to see what they were going for, George had said they'd be using the sketches their artist had done for their article rather than photographs, there was a particularly good one of the councilor looking heroic and yet humble, something no photo had ever been able to capture. Jerry had loved it, it did his job for him in a whole new way. After the meeting George had stopped him before he left to give him a drawing.

Jerry had looked at it in amazement, it was a sketch of the meeting they had just had, and it was of him and yet he didn't look small or strange or mad, he looked completely in control of the situation and he looked somehow admirable. Jerry had looked around the room, searching for the artist, George introduced him to the girl who Jerry had assumed to be a gopher, she was so unassuming and she was so young.

After they had married Jerry's party entered the White House, the councilor became the President and Rebecca fell pregnant.

Though she had always worked in journalism, her first big job being a war artist in Kosovo, when they met she had been doing less of it, she had other work, nicer work, when they married she had given journalism up completely and worked freelance as an artist but doing pieces for theatre and children's books, she worked from home and was successful without being married to the President's PR man.

When Jerry came home each night, at whatever time it was- sometimes it wasn't until the next night- Rebecca was there waiting for him. She kept the house, kept him fed and when he had time they were together and he loved her and loved coming home to her.

And when she became pregnant they were both thrilled. They had a plan, Jerry would take early retirement when the president's term was over, they would have enough money to last them a lifetime and Rebecca would still work, maybe Jerry would tour making speeches or give lectures at colleges and universities or at party conferences, but he would be there, they would be a real family. Rebecca would do the first three years as a mother with him there in spirit, there some of the time, but after that, when he retired, it would be what they deserved.

When President Dale was reelected they separated. Rebecca took Alex to Michigan and lived with him there, it was less complicated, better to have no father at all than to have someone turn up every so often and confuse the boy. Jerry could not remember falling out of love with her but he guessed she must have stopped loving him.

Alex would talk to his father over the phone while he worked at prearranged times, Rebecca phoned him only to arrange these calls. Sometimes, late at night, Jerry would come home and want to phone her and tell her he missed them both and wanted them to come back but he knew those times were bad to phone, so he didn't. And in the morning, at work, he didn't have time to think about it.

Alex got sick when he was nearly six years old, just before his birthday. Jerry had not realized how serious it had been. Jerry didn't understand how dangerous a burst appendix was. Jerry hadn't come to the hospital when Alex had gone in for the operation.

Rebecca had phoned him constantly, through all stages, and he felt he'd done his best to reassure her. She didn't call at the final stage, her father rang him and told him, and Jerry realized he hadn't done his best at all.

At the funeral she had not looked at him and he found he couldn't look at her, the guilt was crushing. He wrote to her but she never replied. Their relationship was over.

Rebecca still spoke to Jerry's mother and his mother phoned him every month routinely to check he was ok, she reported back on both sides but she never told her son how truly heartbroken the girl was, she wanted to spare him that.

* * *

><p>Jerry knew that when the invasion was all over the President would be a hero, he would be sworn in again, it would be impossible to vote out the man who got them through a global invasion. Jerry would stay on, he'd have to, the rewards would be ridiculous. But after that phonecall he wondered if he could somehow persuade Rebecca to come back to Washington. If she loved him then maybe she would want to be with him.<p>

* * *

><p>Even during those last three days on Earth he'd never thought about death. He'd tried not to ever think about it. He'd stopped himself thinking about it. His own death was so quick and besides the shock and searing pain in his finger it was over pretty painlessly. He didn't have time for his life to flash before his eyes.<p>

But in the split-second that it took for the crack to his skull to really truly hit him, the spit-seconds that passed as he fell to the floor and died he wondered just what he was doing in the Kennedy Room with that strange and beautiful whore. She had reminded him of his wife, her pale skin, her shape, her eyes… The women he saw were never beautiful, they were never like his wife, he made sure they weren't, but as he died he realized why he'd let it happen.

So much had happened in the 12 hours that followed the short phone call that morning, he hadn't forgotten about it, he just hadn't had time to think about it and then, finally as he took the car home, just outside the gates, just before he was allowed to leave, there had been the girl. It was routine that he stopped, routine that made him take her into the White House for his special tour, he'd always preferred not to go home, not to go back to be on his own with his thoughts. His brain wasn't working, the high of the job, the self importance he was glowing in, he'd forgotten what had happened, forgotten hearing his wife say she still loved him and that she wanted him, but something inside him was making him want to be with this curvaceous, quiet, white creature, he'd been hypnotized, and it was only when he died that he wanted to say her name, say it in apology, in realization… and he couldn't.

* * *

><p>Two days later Rebecca got a phone call, "Mrs Ross?" said the girl's voice, it was young, very young.<p>

"Yes."

"Hi, Mrs Ross, Becka," the girl said her name seriously, "It's Taffy Dale, at the White House," she explained, "I'm really sorry to call you like this, but I'm afraid Jerry's dead."

"ok," Rebecca said calmly and quietly, "ok, I- I thought he might be," she admitted to the President's daughter.

"I'm real sorry," Taffy said quietly, "I didn't know if you guys were still together, I haven't seen you for so long."

"No, I, I guess we weren't. Are you ok?" Rebecca found herself asking as she realized that Taffy's parents were both dead too.

"I'm ok," Taffy answered. There was a pause before the president's daughter spoke again, "listen, there's some things here, some photographs, I thought you might like them, are you in Michigan?"

"Photographs? Yes, yes I'm in Michigan," Rebecca said absently.

"Just some stuff from Jerry's office. Photos of you and Alex."

"Oh," she said in surprise and her heart stung. There was a pause, "Taffy, is- is there, I mean, Jerry's body, is there a body?" she managed to say.

"Yeah," Taffy said quietly, "Yeah, he, it was a blow to the head," she decided to leave out the details, the security team had been through footage, she knew how Jerry had died, it wasn't suitable for his wife to know.

"Will you- will I be contacted about it, about making arrangements?"

"I'll make sure they call you."

"I'm- I'm glad you're ok, Taffy," Rebecca said quietly, "I'm sorry you had to phone me, but thanks."

"That's ok," Taffy seemed to shrug verbally then after a pause she said, "Can I ask a favor?"

"What is it?"

"I've got a children's book that I've written, it's like, about family stuff, would you look at it for me if I email it to you?"

"Of course I will," Rebecca said quietly, "Goodbye, Taffy."

"Bye."


End file.
